


My Favourite Faded Fantasy

by Lunar_Pull



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Pull/pseuds/Lunar_Pull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Youngbae,” Jiyong sighs and begs in one breath and all the reasons why they shouldn't do this fade away into the background.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Favourite Faded Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Damien Rice's "My Favourite Faded Fantasy"

 

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is  _so wrong_.

 

It starts with a flimsy excuse.

 

_We should practice for the performance._

 

Alone.

 

In Jiyong's apartment.

 

Alone.

 

And it honestly doesn't take long for the private rehearsal to turn into Jiyong pushing him onto the couch and climbing over him with his endless legs and biting mouth and his shirt's already off and he really should have known that Jiyong was going to try to do this again but—

 

“Youngbae,” Jiyong sighs and begs in one breath and all the reasons why they shouldn't do this fade away into the background.

 

A soft blue tint to their sad affair.

 

It's wrong, for so many reasons. Because they're famous, because they're role models, because they're men.

 

Because Jiyong has a girlfriend and Youngbae's image is all about masculinity.

 

Because they're men.

 

They can't do this, or at least Youngbae always tries to say that, but it never makes a difference because Jiyong fits in his hands like the edge of a river against the night sky, natural and breath-taking, the darkest shade of blue.

 

They can't do this, but they always do.

 

It's  _so_  good, too. Jiyong's tongue is magic and it always turns the reserved Youngbae into nothing but a broken, needy mess of himself. He keens and sighs and he's so soft and gentle, the water's waves against the grains of sand.

 

Jiyong is rough with everyone in his life—other people's thoughts and feelings are nothing but obstacles, keeping him from doing what he wants—but he always treats Youngbae delicately. He's too precious to tease in public and the one time he stupidly crossed that thin line, he felt so fucking horrible that he bought him an entire living room set and got a tattoo on top of his navel, to mark Youngbae's favorite place to kiss.

 

Youngbae had only laughed at the entire thing, because that's how he is.

 

The sea always forgives the shore. It always comes back.

 

In this moment, Jiyong kisses Youngbae in the blue of his room, as the sun sinks and the lights of the city start to come to life. Somewhere in the city, a boy is meeting a girl and falling in love and a man is losing the fight with cancer and someone is crying and someone is being born and a heart is surely being broken.

 

In this room, Jiyong and Youngbae are kissing and loving and wishing.

 

It ends, with the crescendo of their moans and gasps. Not out of the ordinary. Perfect, as always.

 

A light rain begins to fall and the soft tapping on the window lulls them into a lazy haze.

 

Jiyong is laid back against the pillows with Youngbae's head on his chest. His head is swimming with all the words that Youngbae inspires—beautiful and violent alike. Jiyong's thin, nicotine-stained fingers thread softly and rhythmically through Youngbae's bleached hair. Tracing a pattern. A heart shape.

 

This is around the time where Youngbae will start to fuss; start to shift nervously and kiss Jiyong's stomach, repeating the same tired protests.

 

_We can't do this._

 

_I know that._

 

_This is the last time._

 

_Okay._

 

_I mean it._

 

_I know._

 

_Kiss me again?_

 

A brilliant smile.  _Yes._

 

Jiyong waits for the inevitable bittersweet kisses that mean Youngbae will soon be leaving to go pray, or maybe he doesn't do that anymore. Jiyong's stopped asking about it.

 

Youngbae doesn't stir. Jiyong would think he's asleep but Youngbae almost never sleeps, especially at times like these.

 

“Do you think that—”

 

Youngbae stops himself and lets out a deep breath, eyelids fluttering like a moth's wings right before it flies into the flame. Jiyong keeps stroking his hair, hoping to ease the words out of him. Heavy words, Jiyong supposes they will be. He needs help.

 

“Do you think it could have been different?”

 

The thought is incomplete, but Jiyong understands.

 

If they weren't who they are. If they hadn't met at an entertainment's company practice studio.

 

Jiyong imagines sitting in a park, studying for his entrance exam, and an adorable, unleashed dog interrupting his studies with excited barks and licks to his face. The owner walks up and apologizes profusely but he's got a smile like a sunrise, gorgeous and true, and Jiyong falls for the boy in a simple white t-shirt and ripped jeans in a heartbeat.

 

He imagines a world without prejudice and hatred, a world where he can hold the sunrise boy's hand without hesitation in his heart or shame on his face. A world where sunrise boy reveals his voice one tender night and Jiyong tells him to follow his dreams and sing for the world but the boy just grins and says that he already found his dream.

 

“It's you, silly,” Jiyong imagines him saying with a smile and a hand on his waist as he leans in for their first kiss and the night is still so young and so full of possibilities.

 

Jiyong's imaginary heart shatters and swells at the same time because even in his mind's deepest desires, Youngbae brings out the most conflicted emotions.

 

A love so strong that it feels like fear.

 

In  _this_  world, in  _this_  room, Jiyong takes a deep breath. Sighs out the pain.

 

“Probably,” he answers, but it doesn't sound quite right. It doesn't sound like the truth.

 

Youngbae's arm wraps around Jiyong's torso and he buries himself further in the sheets and Jiyong, the way he always does when he's feeling vulnerable. Jiyong loves him so much when he's like this. When he's scared and afraid and he needs Jiyong so, so much.

 

“What if we'd never met?” Youngbae is full of hard questions tonight.

 

But that one is easy. Jiyong can see Youngbae standing on beach, where the water meets the sand, the roar of the waves crashing is almost deafening but he's smiling and beckoning Jiyong to come closer.

 

The sea always comes back.

 

Jiyong smiles, even though Youngbae can't see it. He thinks he can probably feel it. “You would have found me.”

 

Youngbae places a kiss to Jiyong's navel. His breath blows hot against Jiyong's cooled skin and this is exactly how he knows that it will never end. His muscles tremble in response and his eyes close on instinct because Youngbae is so damn perfect that sometimes, Jiyong can't even stand to look at him up close.

 

“Maybe,” Youngbae says, but he's crawling over Jiyong and leaning up to kiss his lips and Jiyong knows he means yes.

 

It's finally dark. The lights of the city sparkle like stars outside the window and Jiyong thinks the city is more beautiful than the sky. The rain is still falling, like Jiyong.

 

There's still that blue, that shade of melancholy and sadness. The color of Jiyong's hair and his perpetually broken heart.

 

It's a sad affair, Jiyong knows, because they are who they are and the world is what it is.

 

It's sad.

 

But when Youngbae meets his eyes and a moment of clarity and understanding passes over them, he smiles.

 

Youngbae smiles back, through the ache in his heart.

 

They kiss and it's tender and painful and full of love.

 

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is  _so wrong_.

 

 


End file.
